


In Your Bones

by Smutnug



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:18:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smutnug/pseuds/Smutnug
Summary: Story of my Pip Lavellan and her wifey.





	1. Chapter 1

“Pip!”

So close...her fingers reached for the next branch, shaking with the exertion.

“Pip, I can see you! Get down here!”

Ugh. Thwarted, she clambered down the trunk to her waiting mother.

“You should be at your lessons.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“All the other children are there. And who knows, you might learn something besides the best way to put grey in your mother’s hair.”

“But the other children aren’t…”

“What? Wilful? Ungrateful?”

“Elves,” she muttered.

“And why should that make a difference? Lady Bertram wants you all to learn.”

“Mara says it does.”

Her mother’s eyes flashed in anger. “Mara is the snot-nosed brat of a kennel hand. You are the daughter of a lady’s maid. If anyone should have a proper education it should be you.”

“Mara says she only cares because she’s got no children of her own. And she says it’s not normal, for an elf to learn about history and poems and letters. She says it gives us ideas.”

Serious green eyes fixed on hers. “My girl, you can do whatever you want.”

“So I can climb trees?”

“After your lessons, you can climb trees. For now, go in there and show all those shems you’re smarter than the rest of them combined.”

“Shems?” she asked, confused.

“Children. It means children. Now go, Pip!”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a clean shot through the neck, and the ram falls dead.

“Nice!” Varric slings his own bow, if that’s what you call it. “I’ve been meaning to ask - don’t you normally say something, after a kill? Like a prayer? I mean I only really knew one other Dalish elf before you, and she’s...not much like you.”

“I’m not Dalish.” She kneels to retrieve her arrow.

They’re all looking at her now. Cassandra suspicious, Varric bemused, Solas inscrutable. She shrugs. “I wasn’t born in Clan Lavellan. That’s all you need to know.” 

Cassandra opens her mouth to disagree - she’s awfully prickly about her own background, but she demands to know every detail of Pip’s. Solas cuts across her smoothly. 

“That is the last one, is it not? We should return to the Crossroads. We may have enough influence now to meet with the clerics.”

“One last cache,” she says. “It’s a long way to Val Royeaux and back, we can’t let people freeze while we’re gone.”

He nods. Does he think more of her now, for not being one of the People? If he wants her to share in his dislike, he may be disappointed.

“Come on.” Pip stands and brushes down her knees. “We’ll send the next scout to get this before it’s carried off by a bear.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Just...keep your head down in Ostwick, Pip.” Her father was troubled and she didn’t know why.   
“Down how?” she asked.

“It’s not the same, out there in the world. People aren’t kind to elves the way the Lord and Lady are here.”

“I know that,” she said. She knew about the Exalted March, the sacking of the Dales. The chantry version, but even at seven she could read well enough between the lines. The first time a boy in the village had called her knife ear, she’d felt the tips of her ears to check they weren’t sharp, but they were her regular old ears.

“You’ll scare the girl.” Having finished packing Lady Bertram’s things for the journey, mother was busy packing their own. It was a much smaller task.

“Better to scare her a little now than a lot later. She won’t be our lady’s pet forever.”

“She’s been good to us.” Her mother paused in folding clothes to glare. “Plenty have it worse. Forgive me for trying to shield our daughter from the ugliness of the world as long as I can.”

“She doesn’t even sound like us.” They’d forgotten her now, talking over her head. “She’s starting to sound like them.”

“Good,” said her mother. “She’s got twice the education at her age we have now. I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

Father seemed to remember her presence. “Just keep your head down.”

She nodded solemnly. “I will.”

 

* * *

 

Of all the unreality she’s experienced thus far, Val Royeaux is by far the strangest place she’s been. It’s like a toy, a stage in one of the puppet shows that used to travel to the estate in summer. Everything’s too manicured, too colourful, and the people walking around in their masks and outlandish hats are more puppet-like than the puppets ever were.

When an arrow comes whistling past her head it’s less alarming than reassuringly familiar. Chantry politics are baffling. An armoured man striking a cleric to the ground is incomprehensible. Arrows, she can understand.

And with the arrow, a trail. A hunt. For the first time since arriving in the capital, she smiles.

 

* * *

 

Pip crouched behind the overturned wagon. Her eyes were dry and wide, her chest heaving with breaths she struggled to keep silent.

“The fuck have you done?” a man growled.

“It fell.” Another voice, gruff and uncultured.

“I can bloody see it fell. A fucking carriage full of nobles with no escort, and you drove them off the bloody cliff?”

Over there a pair of legs. Mother’s. The skirt was pulled too high, she never liked showing more than her ankles. Not ladylike.

“We weren’t to know it’d run off the cliff!”

“What’ve we got then? A wagon full of dead knife-ears?” 

“Not such a bad day’s work then.” Sniggers all around.

“They’re not dressed bad. Might be they’ve got some valuables. And we can get down to the bottom and pick the rest clean, provided no guards comes along first.”

Heavy footfalls around the wagon and she was face to face with one of the bandits.

“What’s this then?” He showed her a mouth full of broken yellow teeth. “Got a live one! A kid!  Knife-ear.”

“Kill it,” said the leader.

“Might be useful, Dirk.” He appraised her. “A bit freckly and ginger, and only a young thing, but they don’t have to be good lookin’ to fetch a price as slaves. Or other things, if ye’ve a mind.”

How fast could she climb? Faster than the other children. But the nearest trees were bare of branches on the lower trunks, and scrambling up without hand and footholds was slow work, liable to get you grabbed or hit with an arrow. 

“Now don’t you move, littl’un. Stay still and we won’t hurt you none.” His eyes widened with surprise and he pitched forward, an arrow through his neck.

“Fucking Dalish!” Horses and men screamed alike as the woods erupted into chaos around them.

Improbably soon it was over and the road was silent, but Pip stayed shivering behind the wagon.

“You’re safe, da’len. We’ve got you.” Stiff as a board, she allowed herself to be picked up and carried.

 

“The Lord and Lady Bertram, their servants. The child’s parents.” The strangely-clad elves spoke over and around her.  “All dead. There’s no-one to return her to.”

They’d stopped to make enquiries at a nearby village. The Dalish seemed familiar to the villagers here, their questions answered with a minimum of distrust.

“Then she stays with us.” The Keeper looked at her kindly. “What is your name, da’len?”

Her voice was just a croak. “Pip.”

“Welcome to clan Lavellan, Pip.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Glad to see you’re...aaaand, you’re an elf.” The girl pulls a face. “Well, hope you’re not too elfy.”

Pip’s confused. Nothing new there, everything in the past months has been confusing. But the last twelve years or so she’s been considered not elfy enough, and before that if someone thought she was too elfy...well, it wasn’t an elf. She’s trying to make sense of the conversation, starting to suspect one of them might be a little bit insane but not sure who.

Sera. Blond hair that looks like it might have been hacked with a knife. Curvy for an elf, all ins and outs like a human. Definitely an elf though, right? Yes, those are elf ears. Flustered, it’s all she can do not to reach for the points of her own ears and make sure they’re the same shape.

And now there’s a silence and Sera is staring at her, waiting for a response. 

“Yes!” she says, quite forgetting the question. Yes.

 

* * *

 

 

“Heard her talk? She doesn't sound right.” The girl called Loren glared at her.

“She's not Dalish.” This one was a dark haired boy. Roan.

“She doesn't sound like a flat-ear either.” 

Pip was silent. Wherever possible now she was silent, letting the world fold around her as it would.

“She doesn't say much. Is she stupid, d’you think?”

_ So clever, Pip, _ Lady Bertram would say. _ If the Maker had blessed us with a child, I hope she would have been as clever as you. _

_ You can do anything. _ Mother brushing her red hair to a gleam.

Father shaking his head.  _ Don't give her those ideas. She might talk like one of them, but they'll only ever see an elf. _

The elves didn't see her as an elf, so what was she?

“Come on, stupid,” said the boy. “Let's see if you can shoot a bow.”

 

* * *

 

 

She can’t seem to put a foot right with Sera. Too posh, too elfy, or just plain missing the point of what the other girl is talking about half the time. Sera’s mind leaps from point to point, her speech peppered with slang and turns of phrase that Pip sometimes suspects don’t mean a thing to anyone besides herself. Sometimes it’s like talking to the very young children in the clan, a garble of words and every now and then an expectant pause, like you have to answer even though you didn’t understand the question. Not that she thinks of Sera as a child. Far from it.

Now she’s hit one of those pauses, and Sera is watching her from across the table. Did she ask a question? The last words she can remember are “Lady Herald.” Irreverent, half-joking, not like the others round here who say it with eyes downcast and a fist against their chest.

“I think I’ll enjoy having you around, Sera,” she says inanely. “I hope you’ll feel the same.”

All those years with the Dalish and she can’t get rid of that cut-glass accent, those rounded vowels. But Sera doesn’t sneer.

“Kinda. Suppose. Maybe.” It’s not quite a smile, but she’s pleased. “See you, Herald. ‘Herald’. Have to do something about that.”

Pip agrees, even though coming from her it doesn’t sound so bad.

 

The Hinterlands remind her of home. Real home, from before. Hills and streams and grassy, open spaces. Fereldens are more like Marchers than Orlesians, even the nobles are less flowery and pretentious. No Lord and Lady B, but nobody’s much like them. Not anymore.

There are bandits to kill, as well. She’s liked killing bandits since she was old enough to defend the clan. Arrows through the throat, it feels like justice. She’s seen enough overturned wagons back in the Free Marches, enough bodies old and young sprawled in the dirt, that it’s little more than a dull ache now when they stumble across more of the same. And they do, here, every day. Hacked and charred and riddled with crude arrows, and that’s just the ones the bandits got.

“Hey, do you think they’ll have pie when we get back?” Sera says, and Pip hopes it’s not the smell of burning flesh that’s made her think of it. “I could use a pie. Or three.”

“That’s...a lot of pie for one person.” Blackwall eyes her as if wondering where all that food goes to.

“You’d understand if you’ve ever been hungry,” she retorts, and when he opens his mouth she cuts him off dead. “In your bones hungry.”

_ But I’m starving, _ Pip used to tell Cook. She got to know real hunger with the Dalish, not starvation but the feeling of a lean winter when the food was never quite enough to go around. Conscious of being another mouth to feed, she was the most determined forager, the best with a bow and arrow despite her flat-ear upbringing. Plenty of time to practice while the other children learned the songs of their people, listened to the tales passed from Keeper to Keeper. It troubled the other elves, but they couldn’t complain too much when she’d return, scratched and muddied with a pouchful of frozen roots and a couple of skinny rabbits dangling from her belt.

That's not the sort of hunger Sera's talking about, though. City hunger, where food is less than twelve paces away in all directions and none of it’s for you. Hollow-faced children hanging around the market districts in any large town, grubby hands clutching at a heel of bread she slipped them before child and elf could be chased away by an irate shopkeeper.

She’s the Herald, isn’t she? She’ll let Josephine know how fond she is of pies.

 

* * *

 

 

"You know nobody's going to want you, walking around bare-faced like a child.”

This again. Pip ignored Loren and retrieved her arrow from the deer’s neck. Out of habit Roan recited the Dalish prayer to Andruil that should be spoken by the hunter - by now they all knew she wouldn't say it herself.

“You wear your difference like you're proud not to be one of the people.”

“I'm not.” The dagger slipped back in its sheath unneeded; it had been a quick, clean shot.

“Not one of the people?” the other girl sneered. “Or not proud?”

“Leave her alone, Loren,” Roan said, but she put a pacifying hand on his arm.

“Neither.”

“Why are you still with us then? Why not go live in the slums with the other flat-ears?”

Roan’s brows knit with annoyance. “Are you jealous? She's a better shot than both of us and everybody knows it. She pulls her weight.”

Pip knew her jealousy had nothing to do with a bow and arrow and everything to do with the way the dark-haired boy leapt to her defense, the way he'd done since they were children.

“You lovers make your own way back.” Loren slung her bow over her back, thin-lipped. “I'm going to hunt alone for a bit.”

“Feeling strong?” When she had gone, they eyed the deer carcass with trepidation. It was a doe, at least, so there was some hope that between the two of them they could haul it back to camp.

“You don't have to defend me, you know.” Pip pushed stray wisps of red hair back from her face.

“But I want to defend you.” She stiffened in shock as hand slid around her neck and his lips met hers. His tongue flicked against her and she parted her lips without thinking.

Soon he pulled back, eyes searching her face. “Did I do wrong? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have presumed.”

“It's fine.” She pressed her lips together, unconsciously trying to rid herself of the alien sensation of his mouth on hers. “I just...I'm sorry. I don't…”

“I understand.” He didn't, but he wouldn't push. She wished he would, so she could explain what little she understood herself. That if she wanted any man or boy in the clan it would be him. That she wanted nothing more than to kiss him and feel something other than the awkwardness that seemed to be her lot in life.

 

* * *

 

 

She can’t ever seem to feel warm, even rugged up in medium armour and a scarf. She’s not convinced elves are designed for cold climates with their thin frames, scant protection against weather and privation alike. It’s an oversight by the Maker, or the Creators, or random chance that leaves her shivering by the smithy.

“You and Sera seem friendly.” She’s heard their easy banter on the road, seen them more than once in a corner of the tavern with their heads together, shaking with laughter.

Blackwall shrugs. No cold for him, built like a bear and twice as hairy. “Of all of them, I’m most glad for Sera. She’s been a friend.”

“Oh.” Her voice sounds small and he glances at her sharply.

“Maker’s balls, you mean…” His hearty laugh turns heads in the practice yard. “Oh, that’s...no.”

She goes red. “I’m sorry, I thought - “

“She’s good company.” He shakes his head, still amused. “Mostly we get drunk and compare the tavern girls’ t- ahem - teeth.”

“Their teeth?” It’s true that a good set of teeth is a rarity in Ferelden. Especially amongst the poorer classes, smiles are more often gap-toothed or yellow and crooked. She’ll have to look more carefully at the tavern girls next time.

He’s looking at her now with a glint in his eye. “Maybe you should join us sometime.”

Oh, has she made him think she’s interested? Her early education covered most social niceties, but courting was certainly not one of them. The Dalish are more direct.

“I might,” she mumbles. “I’m very busy though.”

“Think on it.” He winks.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ale, please.” Pip slid the copper coins across the bar.

“You're one of them Dalish.” The tavern girl looked her up and down: woven cowl, embossed leather armour, leggings, bare feet.

Blushing made her freckles stand out, made her hair look more red, but she couldn't help it. “I'm with them, yes.”

“You don't sound like one. And you don't have that...whatsit.” The girl's finger traced her own button nose, her rosy cheeks, indicating the lack of Pip's vallaslin. “What's your story, then? Don't see you lot wandering round on your own.”

She shrugged. “We come in to trade sometimes.” 

“I know that.” The girl leaned on her crossed arms on the bar and her bosom swelled out the top of her dress. “I mean  _ your  _ story. Ale’s not a Dalish drink, for starters.”

“My father used to drink it.” The sharp taste reminded her of home. “My story’s long. And not that interesting.”

“Do I look busy?” She indicated the taproom, a huddle of inebriated regulars in the corner and a scatter of empty tables. “Name’s Maisie.”

“Pip.” She gave a lopsided smile. “I’d rather hear your story.”

“Talk about a story not being that interesting.” Maisie left the bar and flopped into a seat next to her. “My story’s the story of every wench in Ostwick.”

“I live with the Dalish.” Pip was aware of the warmth of the girl’s knee against hers. “I like any story I haven’t heard a thousand times before. One that doesn’t involve gods or hunting or how we ended up wandering the countryside in bare feet.”

“I like you.” Maisie hopped back up again. “Let me get a drink, I’ve earned it.”

Half an hour must have passed in the telling of Maisie’s large family, her constantly pregnant sister, her uncle who owned the tavern and was upstairs at this moment sleeping off the drink.

“I should go,” Pip said reluctantly. “They’ll wonder where I’ve gone.”

“Hold up.” Maisie took her wrist in warm, work-roughened fingers. “I’ve never kissed a Dalish before.”

“I - I’m not a real Dalish,” she stammered. “And I’m a girl.”

Her blue eyes creased in a wicked smile. “I didn’t say I hadn’t kissed a girl.” She leaned close and pressed her apple-pink lips to Pip’s, and suddenly everything made sense.

“Goodbye, Pip the not-a-real-Dalish. Might see you next time you’re in town.” Maisie’s fingers brushed her cheek, and she rose and carried on polishing the tables.

 

* * *

 

 

“That breach,” says Blackwall one day as they trek out of Haven. “It's hard to look away from sometimes.”

Sera glances wickedly at Pip and back to Blackwall. “Right, because you know what it looks like?”   


Blackwall keeps his eyes steadfastly on the road. “No. No it doesn't.”   


She grins. “You knoooow.”

“What does it look like?” Pip asks, craning her neck for a better look.

Sera guffaws and Blackwall flushes, avoiding her gaze. “Nothing, my lady.”

“But...Dorian?”

“I have no idea, I'm afraid.” He's going to need to grow a bigger moustache if he wants to hide that smirk.

It's behind them now and she keeps glancing over her shoulder, until Sera catches her looking and doubles over with laughter. After that she watches the road.


	2. Chapter 2

Pip wakes to a burning pain in her extremities, the healing magic finally forcing the blood back into frost-bitten tissues. Solas? She's trying to keep tally of those who made it. Cullen scooped her up out of the snow. Cassandra’s unmistakable voice was there, cutting through the fog of cold and exhaustion. Who else? Now she sees Mother Giselle's tall silhouette as she slips back into unconsciousness.

She drifts in and out for a while. People pass the tent but for the moment she's too exhausted even to turn and look. Was that Varric’s voice? Bull’s laugh?

It's full dark when she wakes to find Sera next to her cot, a feral grin spreading across her face, and a tear of relief escapes her eye.

“Oi now, none of that piss.” Sera reaches out to smudge the tear track from her face. She stands up and tugs gently at Pip's ponytail, the smile still playing about her lips. “Stop dying, you.” She waits for Pip’s answering smile before sauntering out of the tent.

 

She's still not sure how she found them, out there in the snow. She wasn't even certain anyone else had made it out alive between the mage army, the dragon and the avalanches she had brought down upon them herself. It doesn't exactly compare to the precision of an arrow, flinging rocks into the mountainside and hoping the snow only buries your enemies.

It wasn't the search for her people that drew her on so much as sheer bloody-mindedness - she refused to be another corpse on the ground. Like the ones that didn't make it out of Haven, like the unfortunate refugees in the Hinterlands, like the charred remnants of the Conclave attendees. Like her parents.

From there, it was all too easy to imagine a bright splash of red and yellow sprawled in the snow. Stupid, that's not what she'd been wearing. The tears froze on her cheeks.

And now she's here, surrounded by stone walls for the first time since she was a child and against all odds her companions made it out as well. She can't quite think of herself as lucky, but it's better than she could have hoped for and still better off than most. Or providence, if Cassandra is to be believed.

Pip doesn't know what to think, still overwhelmed and exhausted, and in the face of Sera’s doubts she's no help at all. In fact she's only half-listening, sort of mesmerised by the gap at the top of the other girl's tunic. It's nothing more than a place where the ties strain a little, a triangle of shadow revealing nothing and hinting at everything.

Shit. She's looking at her now, a resentful glance from under her lids.

“How pretty are you, that I actually think this shite is possible?”

Pretty? It's not the question of whether she is or not that leaves her staring dumbly, but the fact that Sera said it.

“You think I'm…?” Sera thinks she, a freckled, redheaded _elf,_ is pretty.

“Oh sure, don't mind the bung ripped through the heavens, love. Primp and toss and all is well.” Sera’s amused now, which is better than a moment ago when she teetered between scorn and panic. “What I want is to get everything back to business as usual. A nice simple system, with simple problems. Helps me, helps people, helps you. In that order. For now.”

Even in her frazzled state the implication of that _for now_ isn't lost on Pip. “I'm hoping you'll stick around,” she says, and a wild impulse makes her add, “Never know what might interest you.”

Sera laughs in approval. “Sometimes you do know. Lady Herald.”

Could she…? No. She's been plucked from the jaws of death. Her friends are here and she's safe. Best not hope for too much all at once.

 

It’s a long journey to Crestwood but Bull easily keeps pace with the horses, settling into a long, loping stride. There's a reassurance to having the Qunari with them - three elves travelling on horseback draw some curious glances, not all of them friendly.

“Hey, Sera, you see the blonde a few towns back? She was easy on the eyes.”

Riding in front Pip can't see her face, but she can picture Sera's eyes lighting up. “The one with the huge titties?”

“No! Well, yes, but…” Bull growls. “What about the fancy bow on her apron, dangling all long and sassy, so someone could ease it open with one slow pull?”

If someone eased Pip's clothes open with one slow pull, they wouldn't find much to write home about.

He continues. “You have to see the little details to get the whole person, Sera. There’s a woman behind those tits.”

She cackles. “Yeah, waaaay behind.”

Pip can't help but glance down at her own modest chest.

“See you looking, Inquisitor!” Sera calls. “Nothing to be ashamed of there, don't you worry.”

“I wasn't…” she stammers. “There's a smudge. On my jacket.”

“Oh, smudge, is it?” She's never heard anyone make the word _smudge_ sound so filthy. “Want me to come over and unsmudge it for you, just say the word.”

Solas is well behind but she's sure she can feel his eyes rolling from here.

Bull pipes up again. Possibly trying to spare her embarrassment, but he misses the target spectacularly. “Remember that red-head a few towns back?”

A few towns back again? Same town, or different? 

“Too elfy,” Sera says dismissively, and her heart sinks.

When she glances back, Bull winks at her. Or is it a blink? Hard to tell. “Your loss."

“Pffft. Whatever.” Sera looks him up and down. “How do you and elves even work?”

“Find me another redhead and I'll give you a demonstration.” Bull sees Pip go pink and his jaw drops in horror. “Fuck. I didn't mean...not you, boss. Sorry.”

Sera’s doubled over with laughter. “Yep, you just invited the Inquisitor for a threesome. Heard it! Telling everyone.”

Pip straightens her shoulders and turns back to the road. As an afterthought she pulls her red ponytail over her shoulder, and ignores the fit of giggles this provokes from Sera.

 

“So, Scout Harding is it?” Sera nudges her.

“What do you mean?” Pip's trying to find an angle to stand at where the rain doesn't drive straight under her hood.

“I saw you flirting back there.” Sera’s bareheaded, her own little fuck-you to the weather and anyone else who cares to notice. “I don't care, yeah? Throw it around wherever you want, Andraste’s not here. Anyway, she's cute. Freckly. Not as freckly as you, but _round_ , you know, in  _places_. _”_

“I'm not involved with Harding, Sera.” The long journey and persistent rain has frayed her temper, and the news of another bloody undead horde hasn't lightened her mood at all.

Now Sera’s annoyed. “Who said anything about involved? Like I said, I don't care.” She stomps off in the direction of the tent.

Their tent, Pip realises. One for Solas and the Iron Bull, one for herself and Sera.

Sera's mood is already forgotten by the time she pokes her head in.

“Here's my sleeping buddy,” she grins from the bedroll. “Need a hand undressing?”

“I'm good, thanks.” Pip unlaces her boots and shrugs out of her jacket.

“Wait, you actually wearing that to bed?” Jacket, belt and boots aside, she’s still dressed in heavy fabric leggings and the leather armour that goes over her tunic.

“It's too hard to get off,” she mumbles. Oh shit, bad choice of words. Sera guffaws.

“Easy if you know how!” She sits up and Pip realises she’s dressed in nothing more than an undertunic. “I was joking about giving you a hand, you know. How'd Lady Herald Lavellan get by in the woods without a frigging lady's maid?”

“Different armour.” Pip contorts to find a strap at the back. “This is more complicated. I've got buckles on my...buckles.”

“Ha! Buckles on your buckles.” Unable to turn that into anything suggestive, Sera kneels up to help. “Can't remember the last time it took me this long to get a girl undressed.” Between them they get the garment loosened enough to pull over Pip's head, but buggered if she knows how she's going to do it up again in the morning.

“I stink, sorry.” Her tunic is rumpled and travel-soiled.

“Pfft. We can't save the world and run around smelling like bloody roses all the time.” Sera's grinning at her chest. _Nothing to be ashamed of there._ “Need help with the leggings?”

“I’ll keep them on. It’s cold.”

“Need to get some meat on your bones, you.” Sera snuggles back into her blankets. “It is frigging cold though, I’ll give you that.”

It’s nice to lie down without all those straps and buckles digging into her, even if Sera’s close presence makes it hard to sleep.

“Pip. Pip Pip Pip.” Sera rolls over to face her. “Not a Dalish name, is it?”

“No.”

“Knew a boy in the alienage called Pip. Cos he ate one, on a dare. And, you know, because starving. That’s not you though, is it?”

She shifts uncomfortably. “No, I didn’t eat a pip.”

“What then?” Sera’s eyes are wide and unblinking in the dark.

Why now? “It’s short,” she mutters.

“I know it’s bloody short. Not long, is it? Pip.”

“Short for something.”

“Spit it out then.” Neither of them are sleeping while Sera’s mind is fixed on this.

“For…” She mumbles. “Penelope.”

“Ha!” Sera’s squawk is loud enough to rouse the camp. “Oh, that’s brilliant, that is! Lady Penelope Lavellan.” She kicks her legs in the air with glee. “Wait - that’s not a Dalish name either.”

“Do I look Dalish to you?” She hasn’t said that name in years. Nobody ever called her by her name, not even when she was in trouble. Not even Lady B.

“A bit. I mean you don’t have the face thingy, but you move like one. You shoot like one.”

“There’s a Dalish way of shooting?” she says, skeptical.

“Sure. Like you’re more used to hitting things than people. Like it’s all a hunt.”

“How do you shoot, then?”

“Easy,” says Sera. “I just shoot. Bow, arrow, dead.” She’s silent a minute. “How’d you get to be Penelope then?”

“My parents.”

“They Dalish?”

“No,” she says, “they weren’t. They were servants.”

Sera mercifully ignores the past tense. “They talk like you?”

“No.”

“How’d you get posh then? Not the Dalish.”

“Lessons.” She could offer more information, but she’s too weary to go picking at old wounds now. “The lady, she gave me an education.”

“Lady, was it?” Sera’s eyes are dark in the dim light. “We’re not that different, you and me. Except, you know, everything. And backwards.”

With this cryptic statement, she rolls over and is asleep in seconds.

 

In the morning it’s like waking up in the aravel, arms and legs everywhere and a tousled head trapping her arm.

“Ugh.” Sera struggles awake. “Like sleeping on a pile of sticks, you.”

It's so dark outside it may as well still be night and the rain hasn't eased in the slightest.

Sera helps her into her armour and this time she remembers to thank her. “Whatever, Lady Penelope. More fun getting you out of it.” The thought of that keeps her warm as they trudge around Crestwood, the shambling undead giving them little in the way of trouble. It keeps her warm as they storm the bandit stronghold and kill everyone in sight.

“Payday, yeah?” says Sera. “Let's get some merchants in your new house.”

By nightfall the keep is crawling with Inquisition scouts and rooms have been found for the night, small but with beds and washbasins and a grate for a small fire. Pip nearly puts her shoulder out getting her armour off but it's worth it to shrug on a clean tunic over clean skin.

Outside the rain glistens on the cobblestones. She makes her way to the far wall and looks out over the lake, tinged a sick green from the underwater rift. Always more work to do. Hawke’s friend might be able to provide some answers about the missing Wardens, but she has a feeling that’s just going to lead to more questions, and more work.

“Oh, this is better.” Sera takes in the bustle of activity around them. “Your people work fast. Should get an armourer in here, see if you can get less buckles on your buckles.” She reaches into her coat. “Hey Herald. I found a bottle of...something. Wanna get pissed and spit off the battlements?”

Pip examines the smudged label, sniffs at the bottle’s contents. It’s alcohol with a strong smell of...alcohol. “Sure.”

“Wait, what?” Sera’s shocked for a second then giggles wickedly. “Brilliant.” She takes a swig from the bottle and pulls a face. “Proper disgusting that is. You have a go.”

 

Crestwood’s a different place in the sunlight. Still crawling with bandits and demons, although less of those every day thanks to their efforts. The dragon though...the dragon is a problem.

“She sees us!” Sera cries.

“You say that like it’s a good thing.” Two archers, a mage and Bull. Wouldn’t they be better heading back to Skyhold and getting Cassandra or Blackwall? Then she catches sight of Bull’s face.

“Today is a good day,” he growls, eye gleaming. “Today is a very good day.”

“Solas?” Solas will tell them. Fighting this dragon is a mad idea.

The apostate is watching the dragon circle, hands crossed on top of his staff. “An impressive creature,” he says. “There is purity in such undiluted power.”

“So we’re going to kill it, yeah?” Sera’s practically buzzing with excitement.

He looks to Pip. “It does appear to be causing the people of Crestwood no small amount of trouble.”

Fine. This is how we die. “You’re all mad.”

Many arrows, many health potions and a lot of creative swearing later, the dragon finally lies dead. First thing back at Skyhold she’s going to commission some heavy armour for Bull and have Dorian nag him mercilessly until he wears it. Thank the Maker, or more specifically Solas, for barriers.

“Is everyone alright?”

Bull is covered in blood, some of which might even belong to the dragon, and grinning like a madman. Even Solas has a smile on his face.

“Yeah!” Sera spins in a circle, laughing. “I mean yes, I’m alive.” She grabs Pip’s face and kisses her hard on the lips. “Really...alive.”

Pip’s left standing with a dumbfounded smile as Sera slings her bow onto her back and goes to salvage stray arrows. Bull’s pat on the back sends her staggering forward a step. “We should do this more often, boss.”

Is it a wink, or a blink? One day she’ll ask him. For now all she can do is silently agree.


	3. Chapter 3

“So the Herald is shitfaced, yeah? Nice one.” Sera sniffs at the contents of Bull’s tankard. “What the _fuck_ is that? And where's mine? I killed a dragon too, y’know!”

“Yesss, drink some! It's…” Pip struggles for the right word. “It's horrible. You'll love it.”

Before she's finished talking Sera’s choking on the first mouthful. “Argh. Balls! Fuck. Why'd you make me do that?” She takes a second gulp and wheezes.

“Elves.” Bull shakes his head. “Gimme that.” Another swig of the Qunari liquor and he's coughing and laughing at the same time. “More, boss?”

“No.” The tavern is already swimming before Pip’s eyes. “I'll die.”

“Can't say it's not possible.” He regards her, slumped woozily over the bar. “Should we get you to bed?”

“No.” Sera's only just arrived, she can't sleep now. “I could eat?”

“That's what she said!” Jokes aside, Sera lights up at the thought of food. “They got pies?”

Bull flags down a serving girl, human and buxom.

“Like a handful of that,” Sera mutters when she's gone.

“Oh, she's a handful alright.” Bull looks at his own huge hands. “Not so much in that way, but in others.”

“I bet,” the elf says wistfully. “She likes _you_.”

It takes Pip more than a moment to work out who she means. “Me?” She sits up straight, rocking dangerously on her stool.

“Easy, boss.” Bull steadies her with a broad hand.

“Not me.” She covers her ears. “Too elfy.”

“Piss on that!” Sera punches her hard on the arm. “You're not elfy. You're people.”

“People?” Sera’s lips are the soft pink of seashells. Not sure if she'd like to hear that, or if she'd laugh. Pip still feels them warm against hers.

The girl returns with three trenchers filled with hot stew, lingering against Pip’s shoulder as she places them on the bar. “Inquisitor.” There's a sway to her hips as she walks away.

“You're _in_ there,” Sera says enviously, but she's not the one Pip wants. The one she wants has straw-coloured hair and seashell-pink lips.

 

“You going to make it back to your fancy rooms?”

The food helped, but it seems an eternal distance between the Herald’s Rest and her quarters. “Do I have to?” she mumbles.

“You're the frigging Inquisitor, yeah? You don't _have_ to do anything.” Sera stands and takes her by the shoulders as she struggles down from her stool. “But if sticky floor’s not your idea of a good sleep you're probably better off bunking with me.”

“With you?” She's not sure where Sera even sleeps in that cluttered little room. But she'd like to find out. “Can I?”

“I said, didn't I?” Sera guides her up the stairs. “Don't get any ideas though, I'm not taking advantage in this state.”

“What state would you like me in?” Pip stumbles on the last step and giggles.

“Steady on, you.” It's only Sera’s hands around her waist that stop her from pitching forward. “S’posed to be me getting pissed and making a tit of myself.”

“Why didn't you?” Pip twists to look at her.

“Someone's got to take care of you, don't they?” She brushes Pip's hair back from her face. “Bet that whatshername downstairs’d tuck you in nice and tight if you asked, though.”

“I wouldn't.” Pip shuts her eyes and leans into Sera’s touch.

“Hopeless, you.” There’s both exasperation and affection in her voice. “Here we are, then, Lady Penelope. Let's get you to bed.”

“Name's Pip.” Sera throws a pile of cushions on the floor and she curls up gratefully.

“If you say so, Lady Inquisitor Herald Penelope.” There's a blanket thrown over her and a shifting of cushions as Sera burrows in behind her. “Just don't sick on my floor or you're sleeping with Cole. Ugh.”

Pip has time to think that the noise of disgust probably has more to do with Cole than sick, before she's fast asleep.

 

It’s so bright. It takes her a while to remember she’s in Sera’s room, and Sera’s room is almost all window. And there in the window is Sera herself, looking down at her with amusement.

“How we feeling then?”

Pip sits up slowly, head pounding. She feels like she's been in the Western Approach for a week and she wonders if healing potions help against a hangover, and if that's a suitable use of Inquisition resources.

“So. You’ve been chatting me up,” says Sera, and all thoughts of health potions are forgotten. “I heard that, yeah? And seen the looks.” She hands Pip a mug of water which she drinks gratefully, waits before continuing. “That’s all fun and such, out there walking around. But maybe there’s more in your head? Like you want to be more?”

Pip's heart sinks. This is it, then. She'd hoped they could just carry on with her flirting ineptly and Sera ignoring it, but now it's all out in the open and the illusion it might lead somewhere is shattered.

“I mean, I don’t usually go for elves. Feel like a...bag of chicken necks.” Sera tilts her head to the side and smiles. “But yes, I like you. You’re...it’s good.”

"Wait, you - “ Her voice comes out hoarse. “You like me?”

Sera rolls her eyes. “I like you. I don’t play with just anyone, and I don’t share.” She leaves the window seat and kneels on the floor next to Pip. “That’s why we’re talking now. Still talking.” Her fingers are surprisingly gentle on Pip’s cheek. “Don't you want to stop talking?”

Pip’s still got a mouth that feels like it's full of sand and she's pretty certain she's looked better. “I'm not sure I - “

“Stop. Talking.” There's nothing gentle in the way Sera's mouth meet hers, prising her lips apart to make way for her warm tongue. Hands slide around her waist and pull her close and Maker, it's everything she could have hoped for and more even before Sera’s lips find her neck and slide up to tease at her earlobe.

“Shit,” she whispers and Sera laughs.

“That good or bad?” Her hands have traveled down to cup Pip’s arse and she gives it an appreciative squeeze.

“Fuck. Good. It's good.” Reluctantly Pip pulls back. “But I've got meetings with all sorts of horrible nobles this morning and I'm pretty sure I look like shit.”

“Oh frig.” She's not letting go. “What if there was...horses running through the hall? No, that won't work. Oil on the stairs? Something with bees.”

Pip can't help but smile. “Any of those things happen, Josephine is going to kill both of us.” She kisses her on the lips and wriggles free. “Just the morning, then I'm all yours.”

“Promises, promises.” Sera throws herself back on the cushions and smirks. “Hey,” she calls as Pip's halfway out the door. “You’re fun, Lady Inquisitor Herald of Her Importance. Don’t be less fun now that we’re, you know, a thing.”

They're a _thing_. Pip can't hide her grin.

“And you don't look like shit. You look frigging great.” She winks. “Come see me, Inky.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next weeks pass in a heady blur of stolen kisses and late nights sitting up in Sera's little room, giggling like children. Sera wants more, it's obvious in the way her hands roam when they kiss, in her eye-rolling every time Pip pulls free and leaves to go to her room alone.

“Don’t you want to get to know each other a bit before jumping into bed?” she says.

In hindsight her timing could have been better. Sera pulls away from kissing her neck and gives a huff of annoyance. “We’ve been walking all over the bloody place. That’s time listening, talking…watching your arse.” A smirk softens the sting of her disapproval. “How is “real” getting to know different from that? You only counting words when I wink or something?”

_ Just tell her, _ Pip thinks.  _ Tell her you've got no idea what you're doing and you're scared she'll laugh at you. _

_ She will laugh at you, _ says the same voice.

“We’ll get to know each other more later,” she says instead. “In lots of ways.”

“Ugh, fine.” Sera pouts for a moment, then brightens up. “Do you smell food? Let's go down and get a drink. Go down! Hahahahaha.”

 

They head southeast into the highlands of the Dales, hunting more Red Templars.

“Where are we again? So I don't come back?”  Sera’s bundled up against the cold, unimpressed with both the weather and the addition of Solas to their team. But Dorian hates the cold, and Sera doesn't get along any better with Vivienne.

“You could at least put some frigging shoes on,” she snipes, and the mage ignores her. “Should send your frigging Templars out here to deal with them. Their fault in the first place, innit? Not like they've got up to much useful since you took ‘em in. Unless you count that Ser Whatsits giving the tavern girls more to swoon about.” 

“But there's rifts here, too.” Unconsciously, Pip flexes her marked hand.

“Pffft. Rifts! What's the point of having mages if they can't even plug a few demon-holes?” She turns to shout back at Solas. “ You can make magic anywhere, Solas? Ever piss it by accident?”

He pauses, seeming to seriously consider the question. “No. Wait... No.”

“What?” For the first time since they reached the grim highlands, she laughs, and Pip smiles at the sound. “How would you not remember something like that?”

The apostate shrugs. “We were all young once.”

“Ha. Not you!” She looks around at the frozen landscape with a scowl. “Highlands. Lands up high…” Sighs, bored.

“Trouble up front!” Bull yells from ahead, and Pip and Sera exchange grins.

“Ready to stick some arrows in things?”

Pip's already loosed her bow and a Red Templar falls with a gurgling cry. “One down!”

“Oh, you're  _ on, _ Shiny!” Sera whoops and unleashes an exploding shot into the centre of the Templar encampment. “Bits up, face down!”

The battle is hard won, but word is sent to the Highgrove Camp and soon Inquisition scouts mill around them while Solas tends to their wounds. Tents are erected, a hot meal prepared while Pip discusses requisitions and strategy for their raid on the quarry.

Sera stands nearby surveying the icy scene below, the frozen Elfsblood River fringed with elven ruins. “Weird.”

Solas cocks his head in interest. “Sera? What are you feeling?”

She grimaces. “Ugh, here we go. It’s nothing, it just feels like I've seen this. Exactly this. It happens.”

“Not to everyone.” The glow under his hands dims, leaving Bull's skin unmarked by the sword gash he sustained earlier.

“Aw, I was hoping for a scar,” the Qunari gripes, but Solas’s attention is still fixed on Sera.

“It’s not an elf thing,” she snaps. “Inquisitor's not shaking.” He says nothing, and she rolls her eyes. “I suppose now you’ll switch to how I’m the same but different?”

“You are different. You are the furthest from what you were meant to be.”

“Enough, Solas.” Pip turns from the map she's been studying. “Leave her alone. She's fine just how she is.”

His lips thin in disapproval, but it's Sera she's looking at, and what she sees in the other girl's face makes the tips of her ears glow pink.

It's a relief to finally retreat to bed, removing only what parts of her armour will dig into her while she sleeps.

“Stupid cold.” Sera flops onto her bedroll. “You know what's not cold? Cities.”

“When there's red lyrium growing in Val Royeaux, I know who to bring.”

Sera wraps a pile of furs and blankets around them and burrows in close beside her. “Good for snuggles, anyway. Wish you were a Qunari. All warm and big and...mmm.”

“Go bunk with Bull if that's what you want,” Pip grumbles, and Sera wraps long arms around her.

“You've got a nicer arse than Bull.” She slides chilled hands under Pip’s tunic, giggling when she groans in protest. “‘Sides, you're my Shiny. And you're fine just how you are.” 

 

The quarry is hell, red lyrium everywhere, even growing out of people. An infected villager dies in front of them, and Sera spits on the corpse of a downed Templar. ”Piss.  Let's do what needs doing and get out of here.”

It's another full day before they take Suledin Keep, a day they'd all rather forget. At least it means they can eat around a table, sleep in real beds. And in the morning, get out of Emprise du Lion and back to where things make a kind of sense.

Bull waits til Solas is out of earshot, eyeing them both over his bowl of stew. “So, you and the boss, huh?”

Pip nearly chokes on her food.

“I know right?” Sera nudges her, unfazed

“Didn't think you were the kind to bed your way to power,” Bull says and she bristles like an alley cat.

“Hey! You take that back!”

“What?” For once the Ben-Hassrath seems surprised. “I didn't mean anything by it!”

“But this matters.” Sera's scowling, brandishing her spoon at him like a weapon. “You don't talk piss about what matters.”

“So it matters, huh?” He catches Pip’s eye, and this time it's definitely a wink. “Good to know.”


	5. Chapter 5

“There's you.” Sera turns from the window, blonde hair aglow in the late afternoon sun.

“How are we doing, you and I?”

Pip's happy. She's not used to happy, not really since her parents died. Not used to having someone she’s scared to lose. But Sera...sometimes she seems like smoke, like she might slip through Pip’s fingers and float away forever. And that's worse than anything Corypheus might throw at her.

But Sera just looks at her, twisting her fingers the way she does when she's thinking, and her voice is soft when she answers.

“If you want, you'll never go a night without knowing. Fact.”

A knot loosens in Pip, a tension she didn't know she was carrying. “What are you doing now? Want some roof time?”

“With you?” As always, Sera's smile lights up her face. “Let's go.”

It's peaceful up on the roof. It's a place Pip can watch the people of Skyhold go by, knowing she's unseen. Nobody knows she's up here to find her with reports, or complaints, or to seek her opinion on hall decorations or renovations to the courtyard.

Nobody knows she's here except Sera. Long legs are wrapped around her waist, long fingers resting on the inside of her thigh. And wanting more, knowing Sera wants more, she lets her knee fall to the side a little, shuffling back into her touch.

“Well, hello there.” Sera's breath tickles her ear. “Aren't you just full of surprises?” Her fingertips tease at Pip's thigh, tracing little patterns over the fabric of her leggings.

“Sera...I…” She can't put it into words, a formless want for something she's never had before, something that almost takes shape when the other girl's thumb brushes against the seam between her thighs.

“You want this? Here, on the roof?” Sera's other hand cups her breast and it's agony, too much thick material between her and the touch she needs. She twists to face her, the shingles digging uncomfortably into her knees as she kneels between Sera's legs.

“Here,” she murmurs as Sera cups her jaw, tilts her head to allow soft lips to trail over her neck. “Anywhere.”

“That's a good change from  _ nowhere.” _ Grasping hands pull her close, a leg slides between her knees and Sera's hips grind lazily against hers. She's suddenly lightheaded, not a good feeling when a long fall to the courtyard is just at her back.

“Wait,” she gasps, and Sera falls back onto her hands, scowling.

“Fine, I can wait.  _ Obviously.” _

“I just...I'm not sure…”

Sera changes. There's something in her expression like a shutter closing and her limbs draw in, as if she's protecting herself from harm. “I get it,” she mutters. “Wouldn't be the first time.”

“No, that's not what I mean!” Pip bites her lip, feeling everything good slipping away. “I mean...shit!”

“Sure. Gotta go.” Sera scrambles to her feet, avoiding Pip’s eyes.

“I'm not sure how this works!” she blurts in desperation. “I've never...I don't know what I'm doing, that's all. Please don't go.”

Sera eyes her warily, sinking back down onto the shingles. “Wait, you mean - you've never done it with a girl?”

“I've never…” Her face feels pinker than the sunset. “Done it.”

“Bollocks!” Sera hugs her middle, her mood swinging to hilarity in an instant. “You're a virgin? No frigging way! Oh Shiny, you are too funny.” She wipes away a tear of mirth.

“I'm glad you think so.” Now that Sera's not angry, she doesn't know whether to be relieved or offended.

“No, it's adorable, innit? Herald of Andraste, all blushing and virginal!” Sera finally relents, reaching for Pip’s hands. “Let's take care of you, Lady Penelope. Not on a frigging roof, though, right? Your room?”

Pip allows a smile to creep back over her face. “Too far.”

Sera grins, delighted. “Gotcha. Follow me then.”

Giggly, they clutch at each other as they wind their way down from the roof and to Sera’s nook. As soon as the door closes it's a tangle of limbs and hands, laughter and the awkward clash of lips.

“Get these off, you.” Pip balances precariously on one leg to unlace her boot while Sera works on the other. “Right. Where am I going to put you? Cushions!” She’s pulled to the floor, closely followed by a pile of cushions.

“Now what?”

“Less pants, that's what. Get comfy.” There's a cushion stuffed under her head and another one under her hips, then Sera’s kneeling between her legs. “All good, Shiny?”

“I think so,” she answers, but the crack in her voice betrays her nerves. “What are you going to do?”

Sera winks. “I'm going to make you _purr.”_

And in a moment, she does.

 

Intimacy is a strange new world for Pip. With the Dalish she got used to having other people close around her, whether she wanted or not. But to know how Sera can make her feel, and that she can do the same, brings her a happiness she hasn't felt since she was a child. They don't always understand each other, but they work, somehow. 

“How are you two?” Blackwall asks when he thinks she's not listening.

“Me and Shiny?” Sera's relaxed around the Warden in a way that might make Pip jealous if he was less...bearded, and male. “Fine. I mean, she's a leader. She has tension, and I get it  _ gone.” _ She catches her listening and winks. “Too much? Too much.”

“Hold on to it, Sera.” Blackwall is alright, now Pip thinks about it. “Good things in wartime are rare as hen's teeth.”

“Who went looking for that?” Sera pulls the sort of face she usually reserves for Cole, but deep down Pip can tell she's delighted.

“Heh. Nevermind.”

She grins at Pip. “We're both bony so it's like  _ clackety-clackety-clack.” _

Blackwall goes red. “Now  _ that's  _ too much.”

 

Mornings are the best, waking to find a tousled head on the pillows, a possessive arm draped over her middle. Sera grumbles when she comes awake, digging her face into Pip’s neck to fight the encroaching daylight. Finally she stretches, taking half the sheets with her.

“Whatcha smiling at?”

“You.”

“You,” Sera echoes. “C’mere.”

Lazy morning kisses, Sera's fingers working the knots from her hair.

“It'd drive me frigging nuts, having this much hair. But I like it on you.”

Pip's eyes drift shut, surrendering to her touch. “What else do you like?”

Sera snorts. “What's this, Lady Herald? Fishing for compliments?” She pushes the curtain of hair aside and bites gently at Pip’s neck. “I like your ears, even though they're elfy. Cos when I do this…” She licks down the shell of one ear and sucks the lobe into her mouth, and Pip shivers. “See what I mean? And your freckly little face. And your tits, cos they're pretty and they fit in my hands just right.” She demonstrates. “And your little arse, and how it moves when you walk...and this.” Her hand slips between Pip's legs. “Because it's all mine.”

Her fingers move, and Pip begins to tremble. “That's it, Shiny. Never met a girl who got off so easy. Plenty who faked it, but not you.”

“Is that a bad thing?” She leans her forehead against Sera's bare shoulder.

“No frigging way.” Another deft stroke of her fingers, and Pip shudders. “I could watch you come all day.” Her free hand wraps in Pip’s hair, pulling her face up for a kiss. She picks up pace and a moan escapes between Pip’s lips and hers.

“That's the way, Shiny. Let me hear you.” Her mouth finds the place where neck and shoulder join, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

When she comes undone, Pip isn't sure if anyone in Skyhold doesn't hear her.

Mornings are the best.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mildly NSFW

“Right. I can see why everyone fights over this.” Sera takes in the untamed greenery of the Emerald Graves with a critical eye. “No I can't.”

The trees are bigger than any Pip has seen, the roots alone sometimes large enough that they're forced to veer off their chosen path to get past them. Every inch of the place seems alive and growing.

“These forests have changed much since I was last here.” Solas rests on his staff for a moment, gazing up at the high tree canopy.

“You what?” asks Sera, puzzled. “Doesn't look like it's changed much in hundreds of stupid years.” She smirks at the apostate’s thin-lipped glare.

Pip takes pity on the long-suffering mage. “How has it changed, Solas?”

“I know,” Sera interrupts. “Nugs, innit? More nugs everywhere since the Blight.”

Solas shakes his head. “War does much to alter a place.” He is silent after that, ignoring Pip’s curious glances.

A campsite is found before nightfall, surrounded on three sides by crumbling walls and watched by the still gaze of a wolf statue.

“The clan would have a fit if they knew I was camping here,” Pip says, perching on the edge of the stone pedestal. “He's supposed to be outside camp, not in the middle of it.”

“So you, what, carry one of those things around wherever you go?” Sera squints up at the giant wolf. “Looks frigging heavy.”

“Ours was smaller.” Pip shrugs. “And it stayed in one spot. Where we camped most.”

“Weird.” Sera hops up next to her, swinging her legs. “So you want the tent behind Fenny, or what? Don't want the Dread Wolf to catch you doin’ it.”

“Oh, he'll know.” She nudges Sera in the ribs. “Wolves have very good hearing.”

Sera pulls a face. “Stop that you, or I'll shove a sock in your mouth.” She leans in close. “Because nobody's going to sleep otherwise, wolf or not.”

Cassandra and Solas make uncannily similar sounds of disgust.

“Something wrong?” Sera asks later, in the dark of the tent.

“Mmm…no. Why?” Pip reaches down to stroke the tip of her ear, eliciting a happy purr.

“You're quiet, is all.”

“I don't want one of your stinky socks in my mouth. Now shh. Don't stop.”

She feels Sera’s smile against her thigh “Greedy,” she whispers.

After, Pip turns to Sera, feeling for her face in the darkness. “Does it bother you, that…?”

“What, Shiny?” Sera mirrors the gesture, a hand on her cheek.

“That I don't do the same for you, as you do for me.”

Sera makes a sound that's at once crude and dismissive. “Don't talk shite. You do plenty for me.” She sits up, straddling Pip. “Is this cos I called you greedy? I _like_ greedy.” Soft lips find Pip’s neck and she shifts so that her thigh slips between Sera’s legs.

“Mmm. Just like that, Shiny.” Sera hums in approval when Pip grasps her backside, grinding slowly and I then faster against her leg. “You ever want to do the other thing,  I'm good with that.” She throws her head back, her voice becoming breathier by the second. “But I got plenty, right here.”

 

Days later they're trudging upriver in search of a rift spotted by the scouts. Sera’s foot slides on a loose rock and her slipper is immersed in water.

“Ugh.” She glares accusingly at the landscape around them. “The veil is bored of trees here, if it has any sense.”

Solas speaks without taking his attention from the ground beneath his bare feet. “I am not surprised you were drawn to the Inquisitor, Sera."

“Why?” Sera stops to drain the water from her shoe, balancing precariously on one leg. “You fancy her too?”

To his credit, Solas doesn't so much as roll his eyes. “I mean that it seems natural that you would desire another elf.”

Pip feels her stomach drop. _Don't ruin this, old man._ She continues ahead, avoiding eye contact with them both.

“Hey, Inky?” Sera calls. “Was I jumping you full on, or did I say something about you being elfy?”

Pip shrugs in the most casual way she can muster. “You were…hesitant about me.” Finally she turns, relieved to see a broad smile on Sera’s face.

“I know, right? And you're so good.” She winks at Solas. “She really is.”

The apostate looks at her disbelievingly. “You were that concerned she was your own kind?”

It's Sera’s turn to shrug. “My own kind can be a bit of an arsehole.”

Pip is relieved when Solas lets the matter drop. But when Sera catches up she gives the elf a swift peck on the cheek.

“What was that for?” Sera rubs her cheek, but she's grinning.

“I don't know…just for being you.”

“Don't get sappy on me now, Inquisitor.” Sera pulls a face, but Pip sees the glow of surprised happiness in her eyes.

 

“What…? D’d I win?”

Pip pushes the chairs aside to clear a path for Sera. “Yes, you won. First under the table.”

“Bollocks,” she mutters. “Where's everyone?”

“Gone to bed.”

“Bed?” She lets Pip help her to her feet, swaying a little. “Good idea. Your place.”

“Only if you don't steal the covers,” Pip warns, and she snorts.

“Promise nothing.”

On the far side of the courtyard Sera pulls her against the wall for a kiss. “You're pretty tonight.” She traces Pip’s freckles with an unsteady finger.

“That's just the ale.” Pip scrunches up her nose and Sera giggles.

“You should drink ale more often then.”

“That's not - “

“Race you!” And in a flash of red and yellow, Sera’s gone.

She's already in the Inquisitor’s quarters when Pip catches up to her, pulling the stopper from a wine bottle with her teeth.

“Sure that's a good idea?”

Sera takes a long swig from the bottle. “Alcohol? Always a good idea, yeah?” She hops up onto the desk, patting the space between her legs. “Here. Get cosy.”

Sighing, Pip nestles back against Sera’s chest, taking the bottle that's pressed into her hands. “I don't think I should take advantage of you in this state.”

“What, _this_ state?” Sera grabs her breasts, cackling wickedly. “Anyways, I'm the one planning on taking advantage of you, Lady Pip.” Her fingers snake up to the top clasp of Pip’s tunic, flicking open one clasp after another. She disappears for a second, and there's a rustle of fabric before a red tunic flies to the floor and her bare arms wrap around Pip once more.

“You missed Cullen,” Pip babbles nervously, driven to distraction by the slide of cool hands beneath her tunic. “He lost everything to Josephine. Had to run home naked.”

Sera breaks away from nibbling at Pip’s earlobe. “Now why would you make me think about Commander Furry’s dangly bits when I'm about to take your pants off? Here.” She pushes her off the desk long enough to jump down herself, then hoists her back up and busies herself with unlacing her leather boots.

“I work at this desk, you know,” Pip protests weakly.

“I'm doing the work this time.” True to her word, Sera drags Pip’s trousers and smalls down until she's wearing nothing but the gaping tunic. “Now I don't want to hear any more words from you. Unless it's my name.”

Pip leans back on her hands, surrendering to the warmth of lips and tongue on her bare chest, the tease of fingers between her legs that finally brings her undone, crying _“Sera!”_

When she drifts back to earth, it's to see Sera’s wide blue eyes fixed on her face.

“I love you like this,” she says in wonder. “All pink and sleepy-looking.”

Pip smiles gratefully. “Love you too,” she replies, and Sera grimaces.

“Not what I said.” But a smile twitches at the corner of her mouth. “Now, did someone say something about bed?”

Crossing the room she launches onto the huge mattress, splaying her limbs out dramatically. “Want your covers, Inky, you're going to have to come get ‘em.”

Pip takes a last, thoughtful swig from the wine bottle before narrowing her eyes. “Right. Pants off.”

Sera’s head shoots up from the pillows. “You what?”

“You heard me.” She walks over to the bed, looking down at Sera with arms crossed. The elf hesitates for only a moment before squirming out of her leggings, tossing them in a plaidweave heap on the floor.

“Are you doing what I think you're doing?” She grins, biting her lip in anticipation.

“I'm pulling rank,” Pip says, climbing up between her knees. “Now shut up before I change my mind.”

She tries to remember what Sera does that makes her moan and thrash, and she must do something right because soon the other girl is breathing fast, her heels digging into Pip’s back. When she glances up she's met with a glare.

“Why you stopping?” Sera demands before her head falls back on the pillows. “Oh yeah, Shiny, that's it…fuck, that, keep doing that…”

It's a better feeling than coming herself, when she hears Sera’s cries turn into unintelligible gasps, feels desperate fingers clutching in her hair as she shudders beneath her. She crawls up just far enough to rest her cheek on Sera’s stomach, closing her eyes as long fingers tease out the coppery strands of her hair.

“Fuck, that was…that was the frigging best.” She's gratified to hear the breathlessness in the other girl’s voice. “Sure you haven't done that before, Shiny?”

Pip idly strokes her thigh. “I had a good teacher, “ she mumbles, and Sera laughs.

“Frigging right you did.” She nudges Pip away, just enough to wrap them both in blankets. “Here, you earned these.”

Pip’s nearly drifted off to sleep with her head buried in the crook of Sera’s neck, when she feels her shift.

“Shiny?”

“Mmm?”

“How come you never wanted to do that, you know…earlier?”

“Fraid I'd be bad at it,” she mutters reluctantly. “Thought you'd laugh at me.”

Sera burrows down in the blankets, pressing her nose to Pip’s. “Well you weren't. ‘Sides, who gives a frig if I laugh at you? What do I know anyway?”

“You know me,” Pip whispers. “And I care what you think.”

“What I think is, you're my Shiny,” Sera says fiercely. “Laughing won't change that. You got me?” She holds onto Pip’s shoulders, waiting for her nod before she pulls her back to her chest. “Good. Now sleep, stupid.”


	7. Chapter 7

It's a tense journey to the Forbidden Oasis.

Pip wanted to get Blackwall out of Skyhold, give the people there time to come to terms with his crimes and the Inquisitor’s forgiveness before the tension spilled over into outright violence. She asked Dorian to join them because of the three mages he'd been least frosty towards the man, but they've done little but snipe at each other on the long ride west.

“Bla, bla, bla. Magisters this, murderers that. Brutish thug, spoiled prince.” Sera rolls her eyes. “Why don't they just _do it_ already?”

Pip chokes on her canteen. “I'm not sure that's what's going on.”

“Still.” Sera steals a glance back at the men, thankfully riding in sullen silence for the moment. “It'd get some of that tension out. That or let them wrestle.”

“Blackwall would break Dorian’s neck. Or Dorian would set his beard on fire.”

“See? That's why they need sexy wrestling. More friendly.”

“You can suggest it to them, if you like. I'll just be watching from a safe distance.”

Sera laughs, shaking her head. “Pretty sure Dorian’s doing Bull, anyway.”

“Bull?” It comes out a squeak. “How does that even…well. Good for them.”

“If I can hear it from my room, it's gotta be good for someone, yeah?”

“Pompous brat,” they hear behind them.

“Hairy lummox!”

Pip sighs. The fields have given way to arid plains, heat making the horizon blur and swim. “How far now?” she calls to the scout who rides ahead.

“We should pass into the Western Approach tomorrow, Your Worship,” the woman replies. “If we overnight at Griffon Wing Keep we should join Harding’s group by nightfall the next day. If we don't encounter any trouble,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Oh, well we _never_ run into _trouble.”_ Sera snorts. “Think we can keep these two from killing each other that long?”

“Think you can keep me from killing them myself?” Pip pulls a face.

“If you can make it to the next camp, I'll think of some way to distract you.”

“Deal.”

 

They do run into trouble, in the form of White Claw raiders and a varghest that chooses to wander through the thick of the battle.

“Mark this on the map,” Pip tells the scout. “Rylen can send someone to salvage the carcass.” They're all hot, sticky and tired, nobody in the mood to pry the monster’s thick scales from its hide. They limp on to the Keep.

“Welcome, Inquisitor.” Rylen greets them with a bow. “I've had quarters prepared, such as they are. And a decent meal, thanks to your generosity.”

“It's not generosity to look after our troops.” Pip sheds her bow and quiver. “It's poor compensation for sending you out to this Maker-forsaken place.”

Rylen grins. “I'd rather be here than freezing my, uh, toes off in the Emprise, Your Worship. Although it's only going to be hotter where you're going.” He seems remarkably untouched by the heat. “If you don't mind my asking, Your Worship, what takes you so far west?”

“Oh, you know. Rifts, ruins.” A justification for scrambling all over Thedas collecting those strange shards, although it has turned into something of a game for Pip hunting them down. She likes an excuse to climb and explore. And keeping them out of Venatori hands is a goal in itself, especially after learning how the oculara were made. “That might be a story for after dinner. And perhaps a drink or two.”

“Of course, Your Worship.”

“Call me Pip, please.”

The sergeant laughs. “Perhaps Inquisitor will suffice for now. Informality doesn't come easily to those of us who were in the Templar order. Perhaps after some of this excellent whisky you've brought with you I might work my way to calling you Serah Lavellan.”

Pip shrugs. “If you're anything like Cullen it will take more than that.”

“He's flirting with you,” Sera says when the door to their meagre quarters is closed.

“Rylen? No he's not!”

“Whatever you say, _Serah_ Lavellan.” She rolls out the _R,_ mimicking a Starkhaven accent.

“He's not my type, _Serah_ Sera.” Pip crawls over where the elf lies on one of the narrow cots.

“Ugh, you're all sticky,” Sera complains.

“So are you.”

“We should clean up.”

“Mmm. We should. Have to undress first.”

“Now that,” Sera says, “is a plan.”

 

The sun in the Forbidden Oasis is unforgiving, but the lower they travel into the shaded ravine the more pleasant it grows until they emerged from a twisting passage to find the lush pool that gave the area its name.

“I suppose this place does have a few sights to recommend it,” says Dorian.

“Why is it forbidden, do you think?” Pip gazes at the cool expanse of water, the verdant greenery, the waterfalls spilling from high above.

“Oh, I don't know,” Dorian grumbles. “Could it be the hyenas, the enormous poison-spitting spiders, the - giant!”

“The giant what?”

“Giant!” The mage points.

“Oh, fucking perfect. Sera, arrows. All the arrows.”

“I was going to say that.” Sera hoists her bow.

“Everyone on dry land, we need to draw it out of the water where Dorian can set fire to it properly.” Pip swallows hard. “It's going to be annoyed.”

“Not as annoyed as I will be if I get stomped under those malodorous feet,” Dorian grumbles. “Over here, you brute!”

 _Please let there be only one of them._ Pip is not eager for a repeat of the Emerald Graves.

In the end it takes little encouragement for the hulking creature to follow them out of the water, where Blackwall hacks and slashes at its knees while gouts of fire burst around its flanks. The two archers fire arrow after arrow that serve more to distract the giant than cause any true injury, until one pierces its beady eye and it falls to its knees, clawing at its injured face. From there it's a simple matter for their combined efforts - mainly Blackwall’s, catching the blows of its thrashing limbs on his battered shield - to bring the fight to an end.

“Better you than us, old chap.” Dorian goes to nudge the carcass with his foot, thinking the better of it when he gets a closer look at its filthy hide. “I wonder if that was the only thing keeping our Venatori friends from securing the best campsite?”

“Well it's ours now.” Pip can see just the spot, a shaded rise with an area of flat ground large enough for tents, and a campfire as well if they could secure the area before nightfall.

It's the work of the rest of that day to negotiate the abandoned mining tunnels leading to the temple entrance and putting an end to the Venatori stationed there.

“So, I hit a nerve with the whole "murderer Grey Warden" business,” Dorian says later by the fire.

Blackwall looks up from his whittling, eyes narrowed. “Are you speaking to me?”

“Yes, you. Blackwall, or whatever your name is.”

Pip exchanges a glance with Sera, both ready to interrupt with a change of subject or a well-placed kick, if needed.

"Blackwall will do.” He bends back to his task, shoulders hunched.

Dorian sighs. ”I'm saying I understand wanting to atone for ones actions.”

“Is that so?” says Blackwall without glancing up.”

“Enough to know when I've stepped in it.” The mage inclines his head. “So I apologise.”

An awkward silence falls. Sera is the first to break it, handing the warrior a flask of Antivan fire whiskey.

“Always knew you were up to something,” she says without preamble, and Blackwall flinches. He thinks of her as a friend, Pip knows, and it would hurt him deeply to find himself the object of her scorn.

“Sorry.” He scowls into the fire.

“For what? Trying?” Sera punches him lightly on the arm. “Better than most ever do.”

For the first time in weeks, Blackwall smiles. And passes the flask to Dorian, who accepts it graciously even though he grimaces at the taste.

“Give me that,” orders Pip, happy to be surrounded by so much unexpected warmth.

 

Emerging from the temple, Pip is sorry she ever complained about the relentless sun in Western Orlais. It's been a long, dark and gruelling day, and she's still not sure how to feel about the magic they released from the ancient chambers. “It went straight to you... or to the mark, perhaps? Doesn't seem to have harmed you.” Dorian looks at her searchingly. “How do you feel?”

She takes a deep breath before answering honestly. “Like I need a wash.”

“Good thing we camped by a frigging pool then, yeah?” Sera stretches like a cat in the sunshine. “Bath time?”

Armour and weapons shed at camp, Pip and Sera are the first to run whooping into the cool water. Dorian follows at a more dignified pace, while Blackwall hovers at the pool’s edge, not sure where to look.

“Come in, Beardy,” cries Sera, sending a sheet of water in his direction. “We won't bite! Don't think you're anyone's type here.”

Dorian, caught in the crossfire, rolls his eyes. “Certainly not.” He throws something to Blackwall, who catches it and guffaws.

“You brought soap?”

“Naturally,” sniffs the mage. “The two of you should get better acquainted.”

Pip lies on her back, red hair floating around her head. “I'm glad we didn't end up with a giant corpse in the water.”

Sera’s crouched down up to her chin, watching Blackwall wade into the shallows clad in only his linen breeches. “So,” she says. “You gonna squeeze up to her or not?”

He freezes, looking alarmed. “What? Squeeze up to who?”

She spits a jet of water at him before answering. “Lady Josie. I've seen you, doing that knightly stuff.”

“Maker, Sera.” Blackwall turns pale beneath his beard, then flushes pink. “No. Stay out of it.”

The elf’s delighted cackle echoes off the canyon walls. “You're all shy! What, you think you can't treat her right?”

“No, it's not - “

“I'll show you,” she offers helpfully. “I just need a peach. A ripe one, because if you do it right? Ripe! Down there.”

“Please, no peaches, ripe or otherwise.”

“Well I can't teach you bananas! That would be like showing you swords! Oh!” Sera points for emphasis. “Remember, do not use it like a sword.”

“How do I make this stop?” He looks to Dorian, who's doing an unconvincing job of hiding his amused smirk. Then to Pip, who shrugs in a way that she hopes conveys apology, as well as the complete lack of control she has over what comes out of her lover’s mouth.

“Come here.” She tugs on Sera’s arm, wading out into deeper water and leaning in close to her ear. “Let _'_ s have some girl time.”

“Some - oh, right.” Her prey forgotten for the moment, Sera lets Pip lead her out of sight of the camp behind a rocky outcropping. They can hear the echo of splashes, the good-natured bickering between the two men.

The water is a touch over waist deep, enough to buoy Pip as she wraps her skinny arms around Sera’s neck and her legs around her waist.

“Your hair’s like spindleweed.” Sera tucks a strand of it behind her ear, fingers lingering at the pointed tip in a way that makes Pip’s belly flutter.

“Rubbery and stinky?”

“Pfft. I mean the red, when it's wet.” Her hand rests at the small of Pip’s back, anchoring her in place. “You still normal, Shiny?”

“What, apart from the glowing hand?” When she doesn't smile, Pip touches her seashell lips. “It was just magic, Sera. Didn't change me. I think I'm stronger now, maybe…but I'm not scary. I'm not different.”

They kiss, the water lapping softly around them. No sunlight makes it this far down so late in the day but it's still warm, Sera’s fingers cool on her bare shoulder.

“What's girl time, then?” Sera asks finally.

“I hoped you'd know.” Pip nuzzles the damp skin below her ear.

“I might have some ideas.” 

 

  
Around the fire everyone is subdued, but contented.

“You... did not have to apologise to me, Dorian.” Blackwall has given up his whittling for the night and is idly throwing twigs into the fire.

The mage raises his eyebrows. “People who say that to me are usually wrong.”

Blackwall shakes his head. “I am indeed a murderer. And I escaped my past to become a warden, like many others before me.”

“Obviously the original Blackwall saw something in you. I respect that.”

Her head resting on Sera’s knee, Pip sees the flicker of surprise on his gruff face. “And you you abandoned your life of privilege for the sake of principle alone.”

Dorian dismisses this with a wave of his hand. “I didn't like that life.” But she can see the corner of his lip curl upwards in a smile.

“It was wrong of me to lump you in with peers you hardly resemble.”

“Truce?” The mage reaches out a manicured hand, and the warrior grasps it in his own.

“Gladly.”

  
“How are you, Blackwall?” He's been in good spirits most of the trip home, but Pip worries that the return to Skyhold may plunge him back into his previous isolation.

“Me? I'm fine.” He nods ahead of them to where Sera is explaining something to Dorian, waving her arms in the air as the mage puts his hands over his ears. “Of all of them, I'm most glad for Sera.” He smiles fondly. “She's been a friend.”

“She cares about you.” She hesitates before adding, “We both do.”

Blackwall nods his head in gratitude before turning his attention back to the riders ahead. “Sera doesn't know who she is or what she wants - and doesn't even care.” From another of their companions it might sound dismissive, insulting even, but he says it with more than a hint of wistful admiration.

“Oh, she knows what she wants.” Pip watches the light catch her blonde hair. “It's not always the same as what other people might want, but she's not afraid to fight for it.” She winks at the gruff warrior. “Perhaps there's a lesson there for the rest of us.”

“Shiny!” Sera twists in her saddle. “Dorian doesn't believe me about the thing Hawke said. With the pirate and the Hero of Ferelden and Leliana!”

“She told us not to repeat that!” She shrugs apologetically. “I'd better get up there before she gets someone killed.”

“Go, my lady, go.” When she next has a chance to glance back at Blackwall, he's still smiling.


End file.
